Red Pandamonium: Chaos Menagerie, #1

Red Pandamonium

A Queer Humorous Urban Fantasy

Roan Rosser

Rainbow Dog Books

Copyright © 2022 by Roan Rosser

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover by Rainbow Dog

No resources? No opposable thumbs? No problem for this band of furry thieves

Sign up for my newsletter to get Diamond in the Rat for free. Available at http://bit.ly/344KD

Contents

1.Haunted House

2.Good Bean Water

3.Which Witch

4.Not a Minor Power

5.Shoestorm

6.The Broken Seal

7.Carriage Trouble

8.The Barcade

9.The Vampire Sunshine

10.Betrayed

11.Unicorn Impound

12.Like a Super Soaker

13.Saturn Devouring His Son

14.Cue Training Montage

15.Even You Won't Date Me

16.Levitation Sounds Fun

17.Unicorn Poop

18.The Exchange

19.The Fight

Epilogue

Also By Roan Rosser

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter one

Haunted House

A plate whizzed by the side of my head, grazing my ear before smashing into the cupboard next to me. I turned, suds dripping from my hands, expecting to see my roommate, Brandon, in the kitchen with me, except, from what I could see in the dim light coming through the kitchen windows, I was alone.

Brandon?

Upstairs, hold on! he yelled back from a distant part of the house. It couldn’t have been him then, unless he’d flown. Or teleported. Weird, but story of my life.

I shrugged and turned back to the sink, but there was a loud ping, and the tile beneath my feet cracked. I stumbled and caught myself on the lip of a drawer. The drawer creaked and slid out of place, dumping its entire contents and me onto the floor. The far end of the drawer caught the edge of the counter as it popped free. With an ominous crack, the linoleum countertop snapped in half, sending my clean dishes and the broken plate sliding back down into the sink.

Then the sink pulled free of the wall and fell, narrowly missing me and smashing down onto the tile with a crash that shook the entire house. The buckets of water I’d been using to clean dishes sloshed out all over me, covering me with suds and dirty water.

Not again.

Max, what was that?

Nothing, I yelled back as I climbed to my feet. This kind of thing was a daily occurrence for me. Besides, the sink had missed me and I was unharmed. Mostly.

Each step groaned as Brandon ran downstairs. The farmhouse we were squatting in had been abandoned and was in poor shape. He entered the kitchen and stopped short, his eyes widening. His eyes roved over the mess as I rolled my sopping wet t-shirt over my head and wrung it out.

Are you hurt? he asked, his gaze lingering on my chest for a moment before he met my eyes.

Like I said, it’s nothing serious. I fingered the nick on my ear, which stung as the suds from my hair dripped onto it. I also had a few cuts on my arms where the broken pieces of that first flung plate had landed on me when the sink fell.

Good, he said with a deep sigh of relief. That was too close. Then his cheeks reddened. I mean, we can’t afford another urgent care visit this month.

I know. I picked through the wreckage and found a sizable chunk of the flying porcelain plate and shook water off it, curious where it had come from.

Violets decorated the edges, and I recognized it as a piece from the china cabinet in the dining room, off-limits because of a giant hole in the middle of the floor. There was currently no way to access the cabinet against the far wall, so how had the plate gotten launched at me in the kitchen? Probably another improbable Rube Goldberg sequence of events.

I tossed the pieces back on the floor. When we’d first moved in, before the floor had collapsed during another one of my bouts of bad luck, I’d taken a piece out to be appraised. They were basically worthless, not even worth the effort of removing them.

I wondered how this house hadn’t ever been cleared out by looters. It had been abandoned for ages, with everything left as if the owners had just stepped out. Then again, it was a good thing that it hadn’t. I’d been slowly going through and selling anything of value. Mold and the damp had ruined a lot of the furniture, but I’d still made a pretty penny cleaning up and selling things like the vases, the antique light fixtures, and crystal doorknobs.

Do I want to know what happened? Brandon asked as I stood up and wiped my hands off on my jeans.

The usual, I said with a shrug.

It’s a miracle you didn’t get hurt. Brandon took a step towards me, hands outstretched as if he were going to hug me, but then clenched his fists and backed up. I… need to make a call. The steps groaned as he went back upstairs.

I got my crime scene tape and used it to make a big X across the kitchen door. Brandon had given me the tape as a gag gift last Christmas. It got a lot of use. Half the doors in the house were now taped off.

We were down to the living room, my bedroom on the first floor, and Brandon’s bedroom upstairs. Both bathrooms, the dining room, the basement, the other two bedrooms, and now the kitchen had suffered unfortunate accidents.

Upstairs, I heard Brandon talking to someone on the phone. I returned the crime scene tape to my room and changed into dry clothes. The stairs creaked as Brandon came back down, so I went out to ask him if he wanted to watch a movie with me. But to my surprise, he had his suitcase with him. He set it on the bottom step when he saw me.

The sun was going down, bathing everything in red light, and making Brandon’s red hair practically glow like it was on fire.

God, he was handsome. The way the harsh light lit up his cheekbones made my stomach flip and made me want to forget that he had rejected me when we were teens. Our friendship was purely platonic.

Work emergency. I have to go out of town a few days, he said.

"A welding emergency?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. In the four years he’d been working this job, starting with an apprenticeship, this was a first.

Yeah, it’s uh… he started stammering. Something broke, he finished with a nervous laugh.

Okay… I didn’t know much about his work, but I knew he’d only recently graduated from his apprenticeship to a journeyman. Maybe this was part of his additional duties. So, when will you be getting back?

Not sure. Not more than a few days. A week at most. Brandon looked at me, biting his lip. His eyes shone, and he stepped closer to me, leaning towards me. Max, I… Color rose in his cheeks, turning them almost as red as his hair. He reached towards my arm and leaned down, as if he were going to kiss me.

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded. I’d been in love with him since high school. I’d have thought this was a dream except for the stinging cut on my ear. My lips parted, and I tilted my head back.

Brandon’s hand brushed my arm, and he jerked, stumbling back as if he’d been shocked.

I swallowed my disappointment as Brandon flexed the hand that had touched me before he picked his bag up again. Max, if I don’t come back…

A car honked outside. Brandon checked the time on his phone and cursed. That’s my Uber. I need to go. Be careful. Please? he said the last part with a pleading note.

He headed for the back door. The front door worked, but we didn’t want to be seen going in and out.

If you don’t come back? I asked, trailing after him. What are you expecting to happen on a work trip? Speaking of which, don’t you need your tools? I asked as he put his hand on the doorknob.

Right. Thanks. Can’t forget my work tools. He gave a nervous laugh and headed up the stairs, returning a moment later with his tool bag, welder’s mask hanging from the side.

As he passed me again, he paused and bit his lip again. Max, I love you, and— The car outside honked again, cutting him off, and he left without finishing the thought.

Safe trip, I said to the closed door, my heart still pounding. Brandon loved me? He had to have meant like a brother, right? And if he meant romantically, why wait until now?

Six Months Earlier

I hugged my knees to my chest and stared into the darkness. From the other campsites, I could hear the murmur of conversation, almost drowned out by the roar of the cars on the freeway below. We were camping in the forested strip between the road and the neighborhood behind us, along with about a dozen other people.

Footsteps crunched through the underbrush and then Brandon sat down next to me. He juggled two cans of beer and offered one to me with a half smile.

I scowled and scooted away from him. "I don’t deserve that after losing us another apartment." After three apartment fires, a flood, and an exploding fridge, all in the short six months we’d lived there, the apartment complex had declined to renew our lease when it ran out. With our terrible rental history—inevitable when you lived with me and my terrible luck—we’d been unable to find another apartment that would accept us. So now we were officially homeless. At least because of the fires, we didn’t have many possessions left to worry about.

Brandon set my can down in the dirt next to me and popped his own open, taking a sip before answering. Max, it’s not your fault.

I dug my bare toes into the dirt, refusing to look at Brandon. Doesn’t change the result, does it? You should leave me here. Without me weighing you down, you should be able to find and keep an apartment.

Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not weighing me down. He picked up my beer can and pressed it into my arm until I took it, then clinked his can with mine.

So you don’t mind camping along the freeway with me? I shifted to sit cross-legged and twisted the unopened can between my hands.

It’s just for tonight, Brandon said. I shot him a questioning glance. I have a surprise to show you tomorrow. He refused to elaborate further.

The next morning, he dragged me up to north Portland and led me to the house. It wasn’t much to look at: a two-story farmhouse with boarded-up windows, a hole in the roof, peeling siding, and a no-trespassing sign in a yard that had long ago gone to seed.

What do you think? he asked, looking strangely proud of himself, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. "It’s all ours. Plus, no worries about destroying this house, as you can see."

I popped my rolling suitcase up on its wheels and shook my head. No way there aren’t already people squatting here.

There aren’t. I checked the inside when I found it. Empty. I asked around, and apparently it’s rumored to be haunted. Keeps out the squatters. Brandon winked at me. Unless you’re worried about the ghost.

I doubt a ghost can do worse to me than my bad luck curse, I said with a snort, giving him a half smile. Brandon knew what I thought about the supernatural. A bunch of BS. My friend Ynes from the Saturday Market was a big believer, and had kept giving me remedies for my bad luck. None of which had worked, of course, because magic didn’t exist.

I always found it spooky when I was alone in this house, like someone was constantly watching me. After I went to bed, my bedroom door swung open, and then slammed shut with a bang. Repeatedly. Four or five repetitions later, I resigned myself to no sleep.

I got out the cheap tablet I’d gotten from the pawnshop and played games on it. On the screen, digital zombies attacked my house, and I fought them off with exploding peas and snap dragons powered by sunflowers. The game was silly and mindless, just what I needed right now as the bedroom door continued to slam.

Eventually, the door slamming stopped, but then the staircase groaned as if someone walked up and down it.

I must have dozed off, because the bedroom door slamming again woke me with a start. The tablet next to me fizzed and popped, then smoke started trickling out of the casing. Great… There went twenty bucks that Brandon had encouraged me to splurge on it. Still, it had at least given me a few days of entertainment before my bad luck curse killed it.

I set the broken tablet aside and picked up my sketchbook. Char marks stained the lower edges where it had caught on fire during one of my incidents. But unlike the tablet, my trusty sketchbook had been salvageable once I’d beat out the flames. Part of the reason I ended up sketching and reading a lot. Electronics were just too delicate to survive around me long.

Although, or maybe because of this, they fascinated me. I loved sneaking into the arcade in the mall downtown, listening to the pings and bleeps as I watched over other player’s shoulders until I was always inevitably caught and thrown out. They had banned me, for obvious reasons, a long time ago.

I flipped my sketchbook open to the page I’d been working on earlier that day. The Portland Zoo had new red panda cubs, and I’d spent the day at their enclosure, filling half my sketch book with pictures of them. Weekends I drew caricatures of tourists, but weekdays—short of summer holidays and spring break—there weren’t enough tourists to make it worthwhile, so I liked to visit spots around the city to practice drawing.

I turned the camping lantern up as bright as it would go and started fleshing out the best of my red panda sketches and adding color. Reds, oranges, and blacks. I was head down, concentrating on getting the highlights of fur right, when a feeling of euphoria washed over me. I’d felt nothing like it before. The feeling swept up me and ended in my hands.

My colored pencils flew over the drawing, each stroke making it more and more lifelike, until the red panda drawing turned its head and stepped off the page, peeling away like a sticker that popped into reality as it tore free. When the red panda was fully there, the feeling of euphoria finally passed and I slumped over on my bed, exhausted. My heart beat fast, like I’d just run to catch the bus.

The red panda and I stared at each other nose to nose for a moment; me gasping for breath, the red panda panting with wide eyes. Then the red panda dashed away, blunt claws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. A bushy striped tail flashed through the halo of lantern light and disappeared behind my suitcase laying open in the corner.

I got up, half thinking it had been a hallucination. Yet two little eyes still glittered at me from the shadows. Maybe a raccoon had gotten in through one of the broken windows, and I’d been so focused on my drawing that I’d mistaken it for a red panda.

I picked up the broom from the corner and prodded towards the glittering eyes with the bristles. Scat, I said.

The creature bared its teeth at me, fangs flashing white against the dark. Why don’t you scat, Intruder. This is my house.

Who said that? I whirled, broom held over my shoulder like a sword.

I did. I’ve been trying to scare you away for months, the voice said.

I spun again, seeking the speaker. A shape loomed up behind my suitcase, arms raised above its head, and waddled out into the light.

I blinked and lowered the broom at the sight of the red panda doing its best to look scary with its paws in the air. Orange, fluffy, and as real as the ones I’d seen at the zoo.

You sure are a hard scare, Kid. The red panda’s mouth moved. It was the one talking?

What are you talking about?.

The banging doors? The creaky stairs? The flying dishes? The panda’s triangle ears perked forward, and it cocked its head to the side.

I shrugged. That’s my life.

Plates throw themselves at you all the time? The red panda rocked back on its haunches and lowered its arms, orange-striped tail swishing behind its head.

Not exactly like that, no, I admitted. Then my eyes widened. "You were the one that threw that plate at me earlier today?"

Yeah, I was trying to get your attention. Didn’t work, but you’re listening to me now, at least. So pay attention. The red panda barred its teeth. This is my house, and I want you and your ugly bird gone, got it?

Bird? We don’t have a pet bird.

The bird, Brandon.

I puzzled over that. I would have described the handsome, red-haired Brandon as a fox trickster or kitsune rather than a bird. I even jokingly referred to him as Reynard sometimes.

The red panda raised its arms again and started waddling towards me once more. Now go away! I’m scary. Rawr!

I crouched down and booped its nose with one finger, something I’d wanted to do all day at the zoo.

Knock it off, the red panda growled.

You’re such a cute red panda, I cooed and rubbed it between the ears. The fur was so soft and deep, like petting a pillow. I’d wanted to pet the ones at the zoo so badly. And now I could! I guess my luck wasn’t all bad.

I considered how many tourists would pay to have their picture taken with a talking red panda. Then I discarded the idea. The camera would never last long enough around me for me to actually extract the pictures.

The red panda batted my hands away with its front paws. What’s a red panda?

Hold on, I’ll show you. I grabbed my sketchbook from my bed and then crouched down to hold the picture I’d been working on up at red panda height. That sketch it had come from was gone, but the others on the page were still there.

The red panda reached a paw out and touched the page. I look nothing like that, it huffed.

No, you look exactly like that. It did too, exactly like my drawing, right down to the placing of its markings that I’d copied from my favorite of the red pandas at the Portland Zoo named Moshu.

No wonder you aren’t afraid of me now. The red panda fell back to sit on its butt and crossed its little paws across its chest.

Yeah, you’re way too cute to be scary. I tossed my sketchpad onto my mattress, then held out one hand to the red panda. I’m Max. What’s your name?

Pog. The red panda touched a hesitant paw to my fingers. I gently took it and shook.

What did you used to look like? I rested my hands on my knees so I could stay crouched.

Nothing. Everything. Whatever I wanted. The panda waved its little black paws around in the air. I was the house…

Like a ghost. Or a house spirit. I pursed my lips. Wouldn’t a house want people to live in it?

Only the family that created me. And that isn’t you two. The red panda grimaced and showed me its teeth. A wizard and a monster. You shouldn’t be here.

And which of us is which?

The red panda stared at me, its little brown eyes wide. As if you don’t know.

Before I could formulate an answer, the skin of my hands began burning. The tingles shot up my palm, straight to my brain. I cried out in pain and clutched my head. I fell sideways and landed half on and half off my mattress. Spasms wracked me, making me arch my back, fingers digging into the mattress so deeply that I tore a chunk of foam out. I screamed.

The world pulsed.

A wave rolled out from me, changing everything it touched. My camping pad turned into a bed of vines, and the chunk of foam in my hand turned into a mushroom. My cheap flip phone laying on the sheets next to me turned into a leather notebook.

The wooden floor transformed into dirt. Rivulets ran down the walls as if they were